Abstract Nonsense, the Beast Within
by hectatechik
Summary: USUK. England has managed to work his way up to popularity with Germany and France... for a price. So angry and stressed, all he wants to do... is to die... and soon, very soon, not even America will be able to stop him. 'Abstract Nonsense' songfic
1. Chapter 1

England didn't know how he'd managed to get out of the damned bed this morning. That agonizing creature in his head pounded mercilessly at his skull, seeking nothing but escape by any means. It had started so long ago, he couldn't remember when. But something about it was different today, perhaps stronger. Quietly he drank his third cup of coffee, exercising his face until it could reach a convincing smile. Then he checked it quickly in the antique mirror, on the door across from where he sat. It was perfect, as usual.

The coffee wasn't doing any good. Standing slowly, he adjusted his tie and pulled on his suit coat. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late for the meeting- again. God, he needed a break. Why couldn't anyone see the bags under his eyes? Promptly they began to swim with tears, and promptly he blinked them away. His only pride was his strong face.

_Don't rely on the others, you stupid git. Don't you see they're just as buggered up as you? _he hissed to himself, shaking his blonde head. He reached for a doughnut, biting into its cherry-filled sweetness. The sugar helped, a bit. Smiling his smile, he licked the insides out as deep as he could before biting again, finishing it off that way. An act that used to be disgusting in the others' eyes.

Breakfast was over. Now for the hard part.

Snatching his keys and briefcase from the table and his hat from the top of the coat rack, Arthur strode quickly out his front door and slid into his car. Music didn't help on mornings like this. The bass just made his head pound harder. But still, he didn't turn off his radio. The silence would be shattering if he did. For a minute, all he could do was lay his forehead against the car horn, feeling the ear-murdering sound resonate through his lean body, vibrating deep into his bones. So much pain. Why was it even there? It didn't make sense.

Something tapped softly on the window. Finally he lifted his face from the horn, wondering briefly how long he'd been sitting like that and whether there was a ring around his forehead from the pressure. America grinned down at him happily.

"'Sup, dude? Mind if I ride shotgun?" he asked, not bothering to wait for a response and jumping in anyway- not only that, but through the half-opened sunroof. Finally, something that made his smile genuine.

"Good morning, git." England smirked, wrapping his slender arms around the much stronger mans' torso. Alfred laughed and pulled England into the passengers' seat, kissing his forehead and cuddling close.

"Saved me some Starbucks, right?" he asked, reaching for the coffee mug Arthur hadn't realized he'd brought with him. America took a large swig. "Rad! It's totally just right, man! Nice and chocolaty!"

England felt fragile in his hands. He liked that feeling, knowing that he was safe there. But pride became a hindrance rather than its usual strength. He pulled away, drawing his thick eyebrows together. Emerald eyes met sky-blue.

"If this is some scheme for me to let you drive my car, forget it now." he snarled, before America grasped his tie and pulled him in, the angle missing his lips and having him kissing the bridge of Alfreds' glasses. The softest blush appeared on his cheeks- a blush that surely had appeared on Englands', also.

"Wasn't it working?"

"Go on, get. Get out." he hissed fiercely, pointing at the door. America, he just set him down and shifted to the drivers' seat, shoving it hard into reverse. They went from 0 to 100 MPH, just from one end of the driveway to another.

"Are you _crazy?_" Arthur screamed, curling up in the seat and covering his head. Desperately he tried to grasp a solid object, terrified, when the car turned sharply and he realized he had no seatbelt. "Slow down! _Slow down!_"

"Hahahahaha~!" Alfred laughed loudly, rolling down all the windows and sticking his head out the closest one. Shriek after shriek escaped the helpless passengers' lips, now clinging to America with one hand, leaning against him with his body for support, and groping for the seatbelt with the other.

"_Goddammit_, you wanker! Don't you understand you're going to _kill _us?"

England was too paralyzed to remember that dying had been on his mind for months now.

The driver took his one driving hand off the wheel to pat his arm. All of Englands' hair stood straight on end, eyes bugging out of their sockets.

"This has got sweet handling, dude! This'd be _great _for Pedestrian Polo!"

America laughed at the look of horror on the Englishmans' face, finally beginning to slow. Arthur panted in relief.

"That was awesome, dude!"

"_This... is why... __**I **__drive!_" he whispered, seething, hair mussed up and tufting every which way. His hands were frozen in place. Which was unfortunate for his damned pride, considering the hand that touched America was tightly gripping the male's vital regions. Pursing his lips, he waited irritatedly for the heat that resonated from his flushed face to reach his iced appendages.

To no avail. Once they'd melted, they played the part of making the driver melt. America rested his large hand over England's slender fingers, massaging them, pressing them to the hardness in his jeans.

"Rad shade of vermilion ya got there." he chuckled, leaning back pleasurably.

Embarrassingly enough, Arthur couldn't truly say he hated this. Unconsciously his hand picked up the proper movements, letting the American put both hands on the wheel once again. the Englishman curled up on himself, pressing his knees to his chest as best he could through the seatbelt.

_ Funny. The git usually helps my headaches. Something is wrong today..._

"Ahh, America..." he began awkwardly, looking up at the man and biting his lip. But he was too busy with the feel of his hand to drive properly, let alone listen. England quickly became irritated, yanking his arm away. "Dammit! _Listen_ to me, you git!"

"Listening." America replied, ignoring the anger as he usually did. Arthur managed another weak smile, that lasted about half a second.

"I'm... I'm scared, dammit."

More frightening still than his former speed, was when he slammed hard on the brakes in the middle of the road. The Englishman yelped, head snapping back against the cushion.

"Why." America growled fiercely. England didn't bother to mask his startlement. This was not at all the reaction he'd expected from the care-free man.

America continued, when his lips became glued shut with shock. "The others haven't been giving ya shit, have they? That's so totally _un_cool! I'll kick their asses if they bother you, I-"

"It's not that, you idiot!" Arthur cried, hands fisting. "I'm just... scared. I don't know why."

Both of which were lies.

"Let's just keep driving. We're blocking traffic. Go!"

He pursed his lips, but slowly eased his foot from the brake. England began to breathe again.

"It's hella obvious somethin's up, dude. You weren't like this when we met." America murmured to the road. "Things've been different since you started hangin' with Germany and France. Has France, like, come onto you, dude? Is that it?"

"Some. But it doesn't bother me. I love _you_, stupid. Or have you already forgotten that?"

"Couldn't, dude."

"Thought not. Even _you're _not _that _pathetic."

"I love you, too, by the way."

England smiled to himself. It became easier to do that, each moment they spent alone. He savored the words in silence for a bit, ignoring how nonchalantly he'd uttered them.

"We're already late." Iggy then frowned, looking at his watch.

"We're already here, man."

He blinked in surprise, sitting bolt upright. Indeed they were, car rolling neatly to an area in the far corner of the parking lot. Waiting until his car was safely off and the keys in his hand, he quickly unclasped his seatbelt, jumped out of the car... and choked to death when America once again grasped his tie.

"Wait."

He blinked again, watching his fist tighten and loosen its grasp with no perceivable pattern as he slid out the passengers' seat and stood before him.

"Ya have problems, man. And not in a get-away-from-me sort of way. You're scared, I'm worried. Totally funky emotions we have there." Then America smiled his softest smile, making England shift shyly beneath it. "Ya look cold, dude." he said gently, taking off his jacket and draping it over his much more slender shoulders. England tried to make his tongue refuse it, tried to make his body toss it away. Instead he clasped it more tightly around himself and kissed Alfred's coffee-flavored lips.

"Thanks. Git." he whispered tenderly, sliding one hand out from underneath the coat to clutch America's shirt when he caressed his shoulders. He needed this. God, he needed this. He was so tired of feeling like the shit he was. He needed someone to touch him, to convince him that everything would be okay. Even if it wasn't possible for it to be.

"America! _England_!"

Despite his attempts to suppress it, the furious, booming voice of Germany made England flinch. America, being about twice his size and having a huge hero complex, tightened his arms protectively around him.

"Please..." England managed through his clenched teeth, trying to break free. He didn't know what he was asking for, really.

"What ze _hell _are you two doing?" the German roared, striding quickly across the lot. "We did not hold up ze meeting for you two to make love to each ozzer!"

"We were _not-_" England started, before Germany grasped his collar and yanked him from his one solace.

"Then explain why ze _hell_ you're wearing his jacket!" he interrupted, giving him a rough shake.

"Hey, will you give the guy a chance-" America started, reaching towards them. England was so tired. His shoulders slumped, and his head, shoving his hands crudely into his pockets.

"Sorry." he mumbled weakly.

"Zat's vhat I thought! Vere you too caught up to think about our plans for redesigning ze table?" he huffed, letting him go and stalking away- obviously expecting them to follow.

As Iggy trailed meekly behind Germany towards the front of the building- where France waited- he felt America's eyes on his back. He knew he was shaking his head at him. There _was _something wrong with him. What had happened? He used to be a fighter... he'd have stayed by the car and deliberately pissed them off. Now...

_Inconsiderate assumptions make everything below my brain crumble_

_Future plans sung from lead, a controversial fantasy_

Shaking his head slowly, he gritted his teeth and straightened his back. If he acted weak, he'd be back to being ignored and screamed at by his fellow nations. Maybe this was bad, somehow, though he couldn't pinpoint the problem yet. But it was better than being cast out, right? Like his America. He didn't want to be that person who ranted and raved, with no one to hear him.

Distracted with his thoughts, he wasn't watching his footing. His heart was wrenched by panic once again- still frayed by the hectic ride- as he tripped over a stone and began to fall... and slammed into France's chest. A low chuckle resonated around him.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Having a little _rapports sexuels _with the American again?"

"_Again?_" England shook his head. "Get the hell off me, you greasy buffoon!"

"_Honhonhonhonhon_, did you think we've forgotten how many other times you two were late in arriving?" he purred in his syrupy French accent, leaning in for a kiss. Disgusted, Arthur shoved himself away- and fell hard on his posterior in the process.

"Hey, c'mon guys! Stop being major douchebags and leave him alone!" America jumped in, waving his arms around emphatically. Francis chuckled, and Germany gave the three of them a hard look.

"France." he said in a flat voice, turning away. "England."

France turned and strutted towards Ludwig, his long legs allowing him to reach his side quickly. He laughed again.

"Ah,what _Oiseaux d'amour passionné! _I am almost jealous of that American fellow. Surely he doesn't deserve such a beautiful man? _Honhonhonhonhon_, but England stays so _passionné_, no?" Arthur heard him say to the tall, strong man, voice hushed.

"Shut up, Francis." Germany muttered.

"Do you not think it's a shame that the American has made the _bête sauvage _so tame?"

"I don't care eizzer vay. It concerns neizzer of us, and is of no interest. Focus on more important things." he retorted, then boomed over his shoulder, "_ENGLAND! HURRY UP!_"

"C'mon, dude." Alfred sighed, helping him to his feet. England didn't miss the wounded look in his eyes. It made his heart ache, his emotions overtaking him just long enough to collapse in his arms.

"I'm sorry, git." he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes once again. This situation was so trivial. Why did he feel this way so often now? America's gaze became soft, kissing his forehead lightly.

"Hey, no worries, man. It's cool. Better hurry up." he murmured soothingly. America was so much stronger than he was. He needed that knowledge, that touch... just for a minute.

Finally he gave a slow nod, drying his tears against his- America's- coat sleeve. Feeling so small in Alfreds arms, Alfreds jacket, England once again marveled in how weak and powerless he could make him feel. God, did he love that. He was so bloody tired of having to choose for himself. Those stresses made his head spin.

When he was ready, he smiled his fake smile up at America and strode towards the entrance of the building.

_Opening my ears, I hear their talk. That guy is really a monochrome puppet_

_His master controls his heart, a variable symphony_

_Ah, put a price tag on me_

_Ah, make me repeat a year of life, rounding to the nearest half_

With no further interruption Englands long legs carried him down the hallways and staircases that seemed much too long. Each day walking seemed harder than the one before. Iggy looked down at his flat stomach curiously. _Am I getting fat?_

_ If I am, will America still love me?_

_ Will he still care about me?_

_ Or will he desert me..._

A sick sort of feeling began to grow in his stomach, like a large hand twisted and contorted it from within his body. _But of course America wouldn't do that, right? He cares about me because of who I am..._

_ But will he love what shit you're becoming... _a voice whispered in the back of his mind, testing his steely face to the limit. He had to stop thinking about these things, lest he be pushed too far and snap.

Tightly he pursed his lips, focusing diligently on his footsteps. No, he couldn't allow that. He couldn't let on that he suffered over nothing.

Even before he reached the conference room, he could hear the others' mindless arguing. From the sounds of it, Japan wanted a round table whereas Romano wanted a rectangular one, Japan thought that each seat should have each country's' flag ingrained on the table where they sat and Feliciano thought that each placemat should be white. Right as he walked in, Germany shouted for silence.

Swallowing the lump in his throat from his haywire thoughts, Arthur primly and silently sat down next to America's brother, Canada.

"H-hey..." the little Canadian whispered, squeezing Kilimanjaro tightly and glancing at where Russia stood behind him. It was no secret that Ivan had beaten up poor Matthew in a fit of passion, and though Matthew had found the strength to leave him after that he still had scars and an unhealthy fear for the man- especially when talking to other males. He figured it was probably another male who'd started it- or rather, the jealousy that another male could cause.

Before he could return the greeting, Germany spoke in a loud and authoritative voice.

"Vell, now zhat England has finally decided to arrive, ze meeting has officially started. Now, if you'll all have a seat..." At that moment he paused, waiting until Russia and the others standing had found chairs. America came through the door during this, and managed to mix into the group without calling on unwanted attention. "Now zhen, North Italy vhas kind enough to bake a cake for zis meeting-"

"Pehh~" Italy stood, blushing and grinning up at Germany. "It was no problem, Doitsu~! I enjoy baking for you, a-ha~!"

In return, Germany narrowed his eyes- a sure sign that he was trying to mask a tiny flicker of emotion. "Sit _down_, Italy. I'm speaking."

Feliciano, with a disappointed look on his innocent face, slumped back down on his chair. A low _'honhonhon' _resonated from where France sat, as Italy was smacked upside the head by a sulking Romano.

"Will you stop being such idiotic bastard and gain an ounce of intelligence!" he growled, but beneath the potently perverted and sexual look of Francis lost his voice and sank beneath the table.

The cake was distributed by Germany, who showed pure indifference to who was getting which piece- until it came to Feliciano, with which he ended up giving a large piece that was topped with mountains of sweet, sticky frosting. "Pehh~" Italy said in reply, voice adoring. _They're such a cute couple, _England thought dazedly, watching Germany snort disdainfully from beneath an embarrassed blush. _Poor Feliciano, though. Ludwig will never admit to any emotion, not even to one as sweet as him..._

As his slice reached him Iggy picked up the small, plastic fork, preparing to stab into the cake... then paused, looking up at Alfred. The twisting feeling began in his stomach once again, stealing the stiffness of his lips and the dryness of his eyes for one or two moments. He... he would have to cut back on the sweets. America, after all, was one thing he didn't want to- _couldn't-_ lose. In all honesty, the _only_ thing.

Sighing, he pushed his plate towards Canada- who, it seemed by the ravenous way he ate, had been looked over once again when the morning meal had come around- and leaned back in his chair, examining the fork. The prongs were sturdy and sharp, for a cheap plastic utensil. If he used it right, it would cut right through his flesh. He might even be able to make it kill him, if he tried hard enough. With a thrust through the temple or behind the ear... with enough force, even through the heart.

Sticking his head out the window, ignoring the annoyed growling of his hungry and maltreated stomach, he closed his eyes. The wind felt kind on his face, sore from all the fake smiles, and cool as it swept through his thick blonde hair. Its whistling was much more pleasant than the constant bickering, and it didn't strain his strength and durability.

With a heavy sigh, he allowed himself to daze- imagining the feel of a giant fork skewering the lean fragility of his weak human body. It was a funny sort of thought, really. After all, to some other being, all he seemed to be _was_ a worthless slice of cake; unhealthy, meaningless, and having only one pathetic purpose- to be stabbed and devoured by something more useful.

Something- some_one- _like America.

_This is useless, I want it to stop, I put my face out of the window_

_This is boring, I'm tired of it, but I don't have the courage to die_

_This is useless, I want it to stop, I'm injecting my wrist_

_This is boring, I'm tired of it, I eat the cake and take a deep breath_

_America watched England refuse the cake with mild curiosity, taking a bite of his own. The poor dude certainly wasn't acting like himself, was he? This here was coffee-cake- a favorite that both of them shared in common. But he hadn't so much as _tried _it. Alfred began to eat more quickly, as he usually did when he contemplated something that stressed him out. This time England seemed much more vulnerable. Was his lover sick? _

_ A chuckle rose to his throat, grinning as he thought back to the last time England had been sick. God, he hadn't had a clue what to do! And he'd tried to help by putting a _cheeseburger_ on his head... well, hopefully he wouldn't have to panic like _that _again._

_ There were a lot of things that America was fond of about the Englishman. His upright demeanor and the toughness you had to struggle to break; the blush that painted his high cheekbones when he was angry or humiliated; the softness of his skin and his tender pink lips. Just thinking about the herbal grey tea he would taste when he claimed those lips made him hard. The man wasn't so stuffy in bed, he admired that also. And he didn't mind being beneath him. Before, that was because he'd known how above the American he truly was. But America didn't know why it was _recently_._

_ Leaning against his leather gloved hand, he sighed and watched Iggy's long, slender fingers play with the prongs of his fork. What was he thinking about? At moments like these, Alfred desperately wished he could see into his mind... not just to understand him, but to _heal _him. All he wanted was for him to be himself again, and to see another genuine smile._

* * *

**_I've noticed that both of my Hetalia writings have involved America being the sole solace to the main character. I think I'm too biased... hmm. Well, enjoy, and as commonplace as it is to add this please review. I'm am amatuer and need feedback._**


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, are you arright?"

England slowly opened his eyes, realizing that he'd dozed off- for who knows how long. A blush crept across his face, wiping off a bit of drool from his cheek- which made him notice a strange taste in his mouth. In turn that made him understand that it was because he hadn't eaten, which lastly made his stomach begin to growl. Ignoring it, he tried to force himself back into a reality that didn't quite seem to fit him.

"Engrand? Engrand-san?"

Finally recognising that someone was speaking, he sat up abruptly- causing him to nearly bash his head against theirs, as they had leaned over him while he slept. At the last minute he jerked back, preventing the first painful fate but gaining the full force of another; the back of his head cracked against the windowsill, so hard that it would no doubt leave a large welt. For a couple seconds, Iggy could see nothing but stars.

"Oh, dear." the voice said, with the air of mild concern. Rubbing the back of his head and trying to focus his eyes, Arthur sat up more slowly to meet the brown-eyed gaze of Japan.

"Ah, sorry. I guess I stayed up a bit too late last night." England muttered, eyebrows furrowing. What had he been dreaming about again? It had been something important... _Damn my bastard mind!_ he growled to himself, frustrated at his poor memory. "So, what do you want?"

"Ah, yes. I was wrondering if you courd do me a favor and drop something off at Romania's house. He didn't show up today, and I have a feering that this was very important to him."

"Ahh, sure. What is it?" England asked, eyeing the plain cardboard box in Kiku's hands. Gingerly the Japanese man set the box in his lap.

"It's Brood."

"_What?_" England exclaimed in shock, shoving the box away from him disgustedly. "I'm not delivering bl- you wine bastard, that's _sick!_"

Japan nodded slightly, deep eyes brooding and thoughtful. As always. "My aprorogies, Engrand-san, arrow me to exprain better. It's a new product he asked for, an iron supprement. It's called 'Brood'."

"Oh." A little consoled, he picked up the box and examined it. "So, do you drink it or...?"

"Yes, it's drunken. Now excruse me, England-san, I must be going. Thank you for your assistance." With that, he bowed politely and turned away.

"Yeah... you're welcome." he answered awkwardly to Japan's retreating back. Rubbing his aching head again, he surveyed the room.

To his surprise, it was almost empty- indicating that the meeting had ended quite a while ago. A bolt of shock had his head throbbing painfully. _How long was I out? _

His heart stopped skipping beats when his emerald eyes came to rest on America, looking a little bit lost and helpless where he sat beside him. The expression on his face, that eager expression he had when he noticed that he was awake, was so sweet and puppylike that England couldn't help but break underneath it. Smiling tiredly, he tousled Alfreds' dirty-blonde hair until he produced a laugh.

Taking control of the situation, he rested one knee against England's chair in such a way that prevented him from standing- and as he struggled to, his leather-clad hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him in for a strong, but not rough, kiss. For a moment all of Iggy's sanity splattered like shrapnel, and in the time it took for him to frantically pull it back together he was brushing tongues with his American lover, a blush creeping over his cheeks.

Feeling the flush, he broke off and turned away in embarrassment and an amount of masked shame. _I look like a drunk idiot._

America's hands were gentle as he used his fingertips to lift England's chin, stealing one or two more little tastes of his lips. "I guess we're going to Romania's, then?"

"Wine bastard! Can't I have any amount of privacy without-" Arthur exclaimed feverishly. He wasn't truly mad, but he needed to distract him from his weaker emotions while they rested in such plain sight.

"It wasn't exactly a private conversation, dude." he grinned in reply, as usual not letting his harsh words faze him. Taking him by his wrists, he hauled Iggy to his feet.

At the movement, his stomach growled loudly. This seemed to faze America, for some reason; the light smile became strained, then fell from his face altogether. Biting into his tongue, England looked elsewhere. Half on him expected another childish outburst from the masculine man with an infant's brain. But, catching England by surprise, he pursed his lips and stayed in deep silence. Part of this worried him even more than any screaming.

Awkwardly they stood there for a couple minutes, neither of them saying a word. _What in bloody hell have I done _this _time?_

"America?"

There was no reply but a thoughtful quiet. The pain of that was sufficient to make him flinch. Shaking his blonde head, wanting to scream, sob, anything to make him notice the wounds he was inflicting with his disappointed silence, Iggy gritted his teeth and marched towards the door. His eyes were filling up with tears. Angrily he bit them back. _Don't think you get the privilege to cry over this!_

As usual, though, America had his hand enclosed in thick, supple leather before he could escape. He looked down at their hands- not exactly surprised, but wondering what had brought it on.

"You won't get away that easily, dude!" He spoke amusedly, in a way that could only be portrayed as comforting. As England continued to stare, he crinkled the corners of his eyes in an invisible smile and squeezed his hand. "I love you,"

"Y-yeah, yeah, I love you too... now can I get to my car?" England snapped in reply. But judging by the laugh America had noticed his self-conscious shifting and the way he automatically squeezed back.

"You can talk to me about anything, dude. You understand?"

"Yes, I _understand _already! Now please-"

A weak little scream had both of them jumping. Heart stuttering, England glanced over at America.

_ "Did you hear that?" _he hissed, heart stuttering.

"Yeah... it sounded... kind of like-"

_Canada._ Another scream sounded, much louder this time. Following the direction of the scream, he ran down the hallway to the dining room- not allowing himself time to think, forgetting to let go of America's glove. That turned out not to be such a problem; Alfred ran along beside him, then in front of him, pushing him behind.

"Stay behind me. The hero will protect you!"

"I don't need protecting, you git!" he retorted, clinging to his arm anxiously. The screams had broken to sobs, which emanated from the kitchen

What they found didn't surprise him- no, not in the least. But it made his heart jolt and his stomach turn. Canada lay crying in a trembling heap on the ground beside the stove, his slender body hunched over Kilimanjaro. Blood trickled slowly from the corner of his mouth, and one eye was swollen shut. The other stared, wide-eyed and fearful, at his attacker- an overbearing, terrifying Russia.

For a moment, the three of them- Canada excluded, being too consumed by fear- just stared at each other in shock. The only sounds that could be heard were the American's heavy breathing, Canada's whimpering, the soft 'kolkolkol' from Russia, and from England the loud pounding of blood in his ears. Time seemed to freeze in place as each assessed the situation.

Suddenly Russia grinned dementedly, breaking the spell with shattering force. Three things began to happen at once; Russia began to bring the pipe down upon Matthew once again- a pipe that England hadn't truly noticed until then. At the same time Alfred sprang to action, as always being an idiot and trying to act as heroic as his beloved Superman. Lastly, England placed himself in front of Canada. _I would deserve it more than he does, anyway. _he reasoned, thinking of how he'd managed- against all his attempts to stop it- to bring America into his world of stupid, pointless problems. Canada was still sobbing, he could hear the sounds from behind him. He pursed his lips and stiffened his posture, lifting his chin with quiet dignity. He would take this like a man, not a mouse. If he could still do that by now.

America had managed to stop a lot of the force behind Ivans blow, but not enough to prevent some amount of pain. England gasped, breath knocked out of him as the pipe crashed into his chest. It was a sharp pain, awakening. For the first time in a long time, through the ache spreading in his chest, he could really push his tangled emotions aside and focus.

Stumbling backwards, he stared at his hands in awe. What had caused this strange reaction?

Though close to doubling over in pain, Iggy straightened and with deliberate slowness lifted his gaze to Russia's. There wasn't any feeling behind it- it just seemed like the thing to do.

"England!" America cried, reaching out towards him. His blue eyes seemed worried, but England was too focused on the pain to understand it fully. When he focused on this physical cruelties, it was easier to breathe...

"He's half your size." he murmured to Ivan, voice hollow and void of its usual anger. The color seemed to have drained out of Alfred's face, he noticed. Then, with a sudden flush, America lunged forward and wrenched the metal pipe from Ivans hands. Funny, wasn't he afraid of Ivan before? Some of the feeling was starting to come back to him, as the pain numbed. A soft blush spread over his cheeks. _His stupid hero complex... he's protecting me._

"Dammit, dude, will you watch where you're swinging that thing!" he cried, waving the iron pipe at the slightly startled Russia, then tossing it aside.

"I was just having a little conversation with Canada, I did not mean to have your mate jump in the way." he smiled, with a voice that clearly stated that he didn't actually mind what had happened. Standing and brushing himself off, he laughed. "But it can wait until later, no? Goodbye, then, everyone." With a significant glance at the shivering, moaning Canadian he walked to where the pipe had landed, picked it up, and left with one last disarming smile.

At the same moment England found himself collapsing on all fours, breaths coming in quick pants as a sudden, searing pain caught him in aftermath. But he wasn't the one who cried out- it was America, kneeling beside him and pulling him to his chest.

"I'm fine, you stupid git." he complained, wrenching away- although truly that was the last thing he'd wanted to do. "Go tend to the one who actually needs tending to."

This brought Canada more into attention- his small, frozen position, the blood that smeared his face and arm, the fear and pain in his doe-like eyes. England tried not to feel hurt when America left his side, to swing the other man courteously into his arms. Canada stayed frozen, barely even blinking.

"You 'kay, bro?" Alfred questioned, prodding his temple in confusion. _Oh, no, not with the cheeseburgers again..._

"Y-yes, I'm fine, brother..." Matthew whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I-I tried to make things private when he... when we... b-but he still says I've shamed him.."

Softly the older of the two began to say soothing words to the younger, as Arthur shook himself and rose awkwardly to his feet. He'd reached a new low, he noticed with a grim smile- he was pathetic enough to feel jealous of an abuse victim. Taking a deep breath, he quieted the urge to scream in frustration. Why couldn't his damned emotions understand that not everything was about him?

Sighing, he shook his head. He needed a break from this, from all of this, so badly. This strange situation- this _life_ was beginning to affect his ability to think rationally.

England didn't feel his lips moving as he spoke, numb to the words he uttered. "Maybe he should stay at your place for a while... to make sure that Russia doesn't have at him again. To be on the safe side, I mean."

"Rad idea, dude!" America replied warmly.

At that Canada snugged up to America's chest with many thank-you's, making Englands stomach twist nauseatingly in greedy fury. He felt ready to kill, and he was fairly sure the only reason he refrained was because he couldn't decide... was it Canada he wanted dead, or himself? _What the bloody hell is wrong with me?_

"I can drive you two, if you don't mind stopping at Romania's first." he said, speaking like there was absolutely no out-of-place feeling running through him. If only the physical pain had lasted longer... just so he could _think._

The fire that exploded in his chest at each step was too blunt to do enough, but the right amount to have him flinch each time his foot came down. Walking stiffly out of that and his pride, he went back to retrieve the box. America followed, carrying Canada- who was making adoring eyes up at _Englands _lover. Forever the introvert, England fisted his hands and narrowed his eyes at his destination.

By the time they reached the conference room again, it was empty of people. Good. No one would notice that there were frustrated tears in his eyes, and no one would ask repeatedly why he limped instead of walked. If they would've in the first place.

Without a word he picked up the box and tucked it under his arm. Then, on a whim, he grabbed the fork and examined it scrutinously. Something about the sharpness of its prongs spoke to him, even appealed to him. A strange feeling began to spread through his chest, telling him to keep it... for what purpose, he couldn't fathom- and he almost set it down because of that.

Then he remembered how clear his mind had been, how free he'd felt when Russia's attack had begun to take effect.

The fork glowed nicely in the light as it slid into his pocket.

_He and everyone else is hanging, their screws are never tight enough_

_Living double lives, a friendship factory_

_Raising my antenna, I hear their talk. That guy is also a media monkey_

_A fraudulent way of business with a shrill voice, a dustley of existence_

_Though he supposed he should be giving his full attention to his brother while he was in such poor condition, America couldn't help but keep one eye on his beloved England. He was acting strange today. Had he been brainwashed by aliens or something? It seemed to be the only rational conclusion- after all, why else would he be acting so... odd? Alfred wanted to pull him into his arms and kiss him back to normal, but little groans from the cradle in which he held Matthew reminded him of how full his arms were already. Softly he kissed Canada's forehead, trying to quiet him down. It seemed to do the trick._

_ "Brother..." he whispered quietly, eyes wide with helpless wonder. Unsure how to react, he just smiled in reply and held him more closely. The curl on his brothers head bounced with each step. _

_ "Well, looks like you're moving in again, bro." he laughed lovingly, then let his gaze travel once again to Iggy- just in time to see something white be enfolded in the fabric of his suitcoat pocket. America's head cocked to one side. _So strange...

_ Then the Englishman looked up at him, and a beautiful flush fell over his cheeks. Tears glittered in his emerald eyes. America worriedly bit his lip. Was he still in pain, from..._

_ From..._

_ Anger suddenly took hold of his heart, white-hot and searing in its violent fury. How dare Russia do that to his love! No one was permitted to so much as _touch_ the hero's boyfriend, and Ivan just up and- his face began to turn the same red as Englands, then deeper._

_ The look of hurt in Englands eyes at his change of expression stopped the anger dead. Stroking Matthews fair head thoughtfully- to be honest, half-wishing it being Englands- his voice and stance turned soft and concerned._

_ "Are you okay, man?" he asked, already coming up with plans to sweep him off his feet and care the hell out of him while still taking care of his dear brother. But Arthur just straightened, that usual steely glint coming back to his eyes, and nodded stiffly._

_ "Will you stop worrying? I'm bloody _fine_!" he growled, turning away._

_America's heart ached, for the fact that his mate found it necessary to lie._

* * *

**_I didn't do very well on the accents... sorry... ^_^'_**


End file.
